Want
by Full-of-Grace
Summary: Why does Sydney finally decide she wants out? Please R/R, this is a first try for me :-)


Title: Want 

Author:  jc

Feedback:  hella yeah!  This is my first try…ever.  If it sucks please let me know, even better if you remotely enjoyed it let me know too J

Distribution:  go for it - just please let me know where

Disclaimer:  sue me and you'll get my unpaid bills.  The genius of these guys is all JJ and the gang.

Summary:  what prompts Sydney to want out? (Sydney POV)

Rating:  PG-13 to be on the safe side I guess, enjoy!

So I'm surfing the net, very Marshall like and all, and I realize something, I hate my life.  _This is one of those moments I think to myself…the ones people always talk about and I roll my eyes at – perfect clarity.  _

My skin crawls at the thought of what I do, what I've done, what I have left to do.  I pour myself a glass of wine, some people eat chicken soup for comfort food.  Me?  I break out the '98 Merlot.  It's like I've been storing all these pictures in a small section of my brain and the levy just broke.  I'm seeing things I thought I could forget, I had planned to forget.  I want to forget. 

I see Marshall first.  The innocent boyish enthusiasm at the thought of hours of geekdom paying off by him saving his country.  I snort as I curl up on my couch, how much further from the truth could  he be?  I want to tell him and Dixon so bad.  But one thing keeps me grounded, subdues my plan.  My life.  Would I wish this on either of them, stealing them from the once blissful ignorance I had?  _How much further from the truth can I be?  I wonder as my thoughts drift again.  I want innocence._

I see Francie and Will, then shift uncomfortably in the cold leather, _warm up damn it.  No longer relying on my own heat to warm things up I pour myself another glass.  Visions of Danny come now too, __oh goody the other half of my life.  Only it's not anymore.  Will is questioning, Danny is dead, and Francie is caught in the middle of everything.  They can't know me, they can't listen to my fears, hopes, dreams.  We can't go on that trip to the Bahamas because I have to be here for "the bank".  Nothing about our friendship has ever been spontaneous, I'm not allowed to be.  I can't let them in, and it suffocates me.  I hate lying, and it's the only thing keeping me alive.  I want truth._

The glass has emptied itself again, silly thing.  I'm still cold tough.  My mother. She was cold.  I see her holding my hand as we walk to the bus stop.  I see young Michael Vaughn asking why his father isn't coming back, who will take care of them, and who will take him to hockey practice and watch him play forward this year and suddenly that memory is gone.  That woman was my mother, the woman who raised me and she was a killer.  Now I see my father too, his forehead wrinkled in pain telling me this.  Pain brought on by both of us, me and my mother.  _Am I more like her than I want to admit?  Hurting all the people I'm pretending to love.  I need to end this.  I want closure._

I see Vaughn, and then red.  He's attractive, there's no doubting that.  Any woman would see that, Christ I certainly do.  It's not just that though, he's amazingly intelligent.  Sometimes I swear he knows what I'm thinking, and I have to fight to keep my mind on business and my cheeks from betraying me.  Sitting in the warehouse he's so damn careful not to touch me, brush against me, get too close, always so careful – so much it hurts.  He's caring, and sweet, and honest.  _He's my truth.  He's also off limits, forbidden, never an option.  Ever.  I want an option._

Hmmm, Vaughn.  Alcohol induced fuzziness slows my thinking, but I can still place the fact that I have a meeting with him tomorrow morning.  Bright and early it's time for you, Sydney Bristow, to save the planet.  Hope you didn't have other plans.  I set my glass down a little too hard, cascades of crystal stars fill the living room.  _Whoops.  I brush hair off of my face to see where I put the broom.  Do I own a broom?  That broom is my life - a normal life, I know I need one, but can I have it? My face is wet.  Have I been crying? __ Yep, way to be strong double agent Bristow.  My hand finds its way to the bottle, and the bottle to my mouth.  It's not good to only leave a bit for the next day right?  Bottle in hand I move to the window, rub my arms to fend off goosebumps.  Must be reverse effect alcohol because I am seeing perfectly clearly right now, the crispness of the night air matching my outlook on life.  I want that broom.  **I want out.**_


End file.
